I’m nervous today.
I’m going in for a CVS at 11 this morning – that is, I am going to have a prenatal genetic test that is similar to an amniocentesis but which is performed earlier.
Since I had an amnio with Moxie, I’m not as nervous about the test itself as I am simply about going in and seeing Boo. Will the baby even be alive?
The first time I went to the place in Oakland where they do testing, we found that Ziggy was dead. The second time we went, they told us that Moxie had diffuse fetal hydrops, heart holes, and a “0%” chance of making it. That if somehow she miraculously made it past birth, she’d have extremely severe health issues.
We’re not going to that same place again – I simply can’t. We’re going to go to a different place, see doctors other Dr. Walton and Dr. Newman, the ones that encouraged us to abort Moxie, she who would be that “burden for life.”
My feelings are surprising me. I didn’t think I’d be so nervous over all this repetition. Not necessarily deja vu – I don’t feel that sense that history is repeating itself. I simply feel nervous that we’ll go in and the baby’s heart won’t be beating. Or that we’ll have a great appointment and the next one will be the one that we go in and find that the baby decided to not stick and the heart won’t be beating. Ziggy was, after all, a second trimester miscarriage. Ziggy did not leave me early.
My nervousness surprises me because – as perhaps callous as it seems – I believe that miscarriage has its place. I think that if a baby decides it would rather not be born, or if the body/baby realize the baby is fundamentally incompatible with life, I do think a miscarriage may be a very good thing.
I would have beaten up anyone who said that to me after I lost Ziggy, though. To a bloody pulp. In fact, I remember after I lost Ziggy, my dear friend Abby came to visit and we went to some hippie Rainbow Music festival or something to have a bit of fun. We saw a severely disabled child there, and I looked at that child and had a strong sense that if Ziggy had survived, Ziggy would have been born with some big-time disabilities. My eyes filled with tears as I looked at that child – the mother saw me and I think she mistook the tears in my eyes for pity or something else. Her face hardened and she grabbed the handles of her child’s wheelchair and whisked her around, away from me.
I wanted so badly to reach out and tell that mother that I would rather have had my Ziggy with me, alive, and with big-time disabilities than I would have a Ziggy dead. And I knew she wouldn’t understand.
Mikey asked me if I was sure I wanted to do a CVS at all. I said yes; I don’t think I can go through a pregnancy again without knowing. I need a map, a guideline, as rough as it might be, to figure out the way ahead. As wrong as they were about Moxie’s health (she who in two years has only had something like two colds – and that’s it), they were right about Down syndrome.
And so.
I’ll have a CVS in a few hours and will know if Boo is actually still alive.
I’m nervous today.

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